Fun fact: Some cats can be “desensitized” so they won’t be scared of the vacuum, but this type of training is more successful if done when they’re still kittens.
Scooter was fearless. A three-legged calico, Scooter had to fight from birth just to make sure her mother didn’t decide she was too injured to live.
She’d puff herself up enough to scare cats twice her size — including her big brother.
She’d challenge visiting dogs — and even though she couldn’t outrun them, she’d outsmart them. She’d jump just beyond their reach, and then dangle a paw or tail to taunt them.
She’d look at the vet with a Clint Eastwood gaze that seemed to say, “That all you got? I lost a leg, bub. It was cut off by my mom’s umbilical cord at birth. You think you can scare me with your feeble shots and banana-flavoured penicillin?”
Even car rides didn’t faze her.
There was only one thing she was ever afraid of — the vacuum.
Other noises didn’t bother her, even sudden noises. She’d cuddle while I watched hockey games and didn’t flinch when I cheered for my Canucks. But the vacuum sent her scurrying for cover. Even when the vacuum wasn’t anywhere near her, she’d hear it and hide. If she saw it coming out of the closet, she’d bolt into the next room.
If Scooter was Super Cat, the vacuum was her kryptonite. The vacuum was her arch-nemesis. She didn’t just fear it; she loathed it.
When she was five or six, some days when it started, she’d watch the machine for a few moments before she ran to hide. As crazy as it seems, I began to suspect she was plotting its demise. Then, one afternoon, Scooter saw her big chance.
The vacuum was turned off, sitting at the foot of the stairs. Scooter was in my office. She poked her head out to look at it. When she saw that it wasn’t moving — or hadn’t noticed her — she slowly approached it, like she was stalking a bird. Then, without warning, she attacked. She took her paw and hit it once, twice, three times. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She saw me watching and made sure I didn’t miss her victory. She swatted the vacuum’s base again and again and again. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or applaud.
If the vacuum had been a living creature — or a couch — her claws would have eviscerated it. But the vacuum was a vacuum and emerged unscathed.
This didn’t lessen Scooter’s triumph.
She circled again and sliced at it again — striking the metal base to make sure the vacuum got the message: “This is my house.”
After I was sure Scooter had finished celebrating her victory, I finally turned on the machine. It roared to life. Scooter didn’t budge. The three-legged, eight-pound calico looked at the vacuum with a homicidal gleam in her eyes that made one thing very clear: “I own you.”
Scooter never ran from a vacuum again. Instead, whenever a vacuum appeared, she’d watch it carefully to make sure it never forgot for a moment that she was the boss.
~Mark Leiren-Young
